


Plums and Mugs

by rythmicjea



Series: Plums and Mugs [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, The Magicians post season 4x13, qualice, queliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 06:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rythmicjea/pseuds/rythmicjea
Summary: After "The Seam" Alice and Eliot aren't coping very well. Truths are revealed and closure isn't exactly gained.





	Plums and Mugs

**Author's Note:**

> So 4x13 was *nothing* what any of us expected. This came from the pain of it all. I'm a Qualice shipper but the writers did Queliot wrong. This doesn't fix or rewrite anything. It's just me closing out a story that I may not return to. I hope that it gives you all some closure.

Eliot limped into the Cottage’s kitchen. His weight rested solidly on his cane. His body was improving but he could not say the same for his overall health. The clanging and intermittent bursts of soft screams had become too much for his quiet sensibility. The kitchen was a wreck. No one had come by to clean it. They had closed the Cottage for the summer to allow those who needed it to grieve. An attempt at baking was made, but weeks of takeout boxes strewed along the kitchen counter as the trash can had overfilled. The smell was being taken care of by a scent masking charm. They really should just clean up the trash though.

The blonde in front of him was pacing. _Stridently_. Cabinets and doors were being opened and shut. What she was looking for was anyone’s guess. She kept picking up a half-drunk bottle of wine before taking a sniff and putting it down again. Sure, it was a white and room temperature, but he remembered being in that phase of depression and that wouldn’t have stopped him. In fact, the issue would be finding a new bottle to drink from. 

Eliot stood, not wanting to be complacent on always finding a place to sit. He had to learn how to stand on his own and for as long as he wanted again. “Is there… Is there something I can help you find?” 

Alice whipped her head at him, in normal Alice fashion, squinting at him because she wasn’t wearing her glasses. The glare said it all. He had no right to be talking to her. Why was he showing his face around her? 

Eliot internally sighed. He could feel his legs giving out and he wanted to stand so badly. He wanted to stand strong and tall. Not just for himself but for Quentin and, even though she wouldn’t believe it, for Alice. Instead the exhaustion won and he reached behind him to find a chair. Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen was straightforward. The kitschiness came from the flat and silverware. But the table and chairs were basic and functional. People needed to eat and a lot of that came from mundane techniques. Though, it did get an upgrade with Josh living there. “If you’re not going to drink it, do you mind passing me the bottle?” 

Alice’s hand whipped out as fast as her head had as she held the bottle out to him. Magic was back in full swing and someone as powerful as her needed time to adjust to the ambient surrounding her. She was powerful when it was low that Eliot was sure the bottle would have smashed over his head had she tried to magic it over to him.

He took it gingerly, and with only a moment of pretense decided it was best to just rockstar the bottle. He took a long swig of the lukewarm liquid. Maybe Alice was right in refusing to drink it. The focus on the bottle allowed him a little bit of clarity. The silence allowed him to take in Alice’s appearance fully. The normally bone straight hair was matted and tangled and greasy. Her usual precise cat eye winged eyeliner had long been removed from wiping the tears away leaving her eyes red and puffy in their wake. She was dressed in _his_ clothes, grey sweatpants and a tank that stretched over her chest tightly and a hoodie. She kept pausing to bring the edges of the collar to her nose. It was all that was left of Quentin. His scent. Eliot had a t-shirt of Q’s in his own room. He wondered how long it would be until the scent disappeared. Would he forget it when it was gone or would he tell himself the lie that he would recognize it once he smelled it again?

The two sat in relatively easy silence.

***

_Alice laid her hand on his knee, the magic of the song running through them. Eliot was startled at the kind gesture. The last time he had really seen her was at the destruction of the keys. He knew so much time had past and it looked as though she had made her amends with everyone. Now was not the time to hold grudges. Hesitantly he took it and held it throughout the spell._

_The wake at the Cottage was quiet and somber. Quentin wouldn’t have wanted a large celebration. He wasn’t that type of person. He would have wanted to know that he was loved. So, in traditional fashion people told their favorite stories. “Quentin doesn’t know how to remove clothing” was popular throughout. Alice seemed to be at the end of a receiving line though. Everyone took a moment to pay their respects to her._

_Eliot understood the crown and the acceptance letter and the Fillory book. The egg 23 tossed in was answered in the humorous story about ‘Falcor’. But, Alice’s mug confused him. Before he could question, “You should go talk to her,” Margo answered. Eliot’s hand still tingled at the memory of their touch._

_He hobbled over to where Alice sat at the bay window. Guests had given her reprieve for the time. “May I?”_

_“Oh! Yes, of course.” She scooted to the side giving him more room. “Um-“_

_“So-“ they tittered at the unison._

_“I’m sorry,” Alice began. “For the keys. I thought I was doing what was best…”_

_Eliot nodded. “And I’m sorry. If I hadn’t shot at the Monster this… wouldn’t have happened.”_

_“No. If you hadn’t, then we would have lost him back then. You gave us more time. I’m sorry you couldn’t have been there with him. I know how much he cared for you. You were his best friend.” Alice smiled sympathetically._

_The pause between them began to get uncomfortable. “The mug. I… understand what everyone else put in. What did the mug represent?”_

_“Oh, um, his discipline.” At Eliot’s confusion, Alice continued. “Repair of Small Objects.”_

_“He always was good at minor mendings.”_

_Alice smiled small but genuine. “That’s what I said!” After a moment she cleared her throat the somberness returning. “I’m sure Margo told you about the incorporate bond. Well, I was there when he found out what his discipline was. I asked him to show me. There was a moment before… it’s a bit complicated for right now. He had broken it and he repaired it. When I asked him how it felt… to finally know? He told me it was like he was returning it back to before everything changed.” The tone of her voice indicated the deeper meaning. The connection and bond between the two. Bambi told him that they saw their past selves, but he didn’t want to inquire further. She started talking again and Eliot had to tell himself to pay attention. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to let it go at first, you know? Letting it burn meant that he would be gone. Really gone.” She pressed the tissue against her cheek capturing the tears that fell._

_“Yeah… I don’t think I could ever eat a peach again.” Eliot said half dazed._

_Alice nodded. “But… where did it come from?”_

_“Our life in Fillory.” The statement was so matter of fact. Someone could see Alice trying to compute the information and thinking of when that would be significant. At Alice’s silence Elliot came back to the present. She didn’t know. No one… **knew**. Quentin hadn’t told anyone. That’s why he wasn’t being treated like Alice was. Everyone knew about their relationship and it seemed that there was more of it he had missed. How long after the destruction of the keys did he forgive her? But, of course Quentin didn’t tell anyone about Eliot! Wasn’t that the whole reason why Eliot went on those fucking mind quests?! He had rejected Quentin **solidly**. Why would Quentin want to broadcast that pain to the world?_

_“During the quest last year, we had to go back in time to Fillory to solve this puzzle of a mosaic. It took much longer than expected. We spent… over 50 years, I guess, trying. The mosaic was our job but we had a life. We had a son. I died.” Eliot wondered about their son. But it was so long ago; and, it became a pocket timeline because Margo came back with the key. “No matter how hard it got we always had peaches and plums.”_

_Alice had gone rigid. Her demeanor could have eased the spring warmth. Penny-23 was in front of them. Eliot was unsure if he was reading their thoughts or just that good at reading a room. “I’m going to go check on Julia. She’s been outside for a while. Alice will you be okay?”_

_“I think… I think I need to lie down. I don’t think I can take much more of today.” 23 held out his hand for her and she used it to stand and gather her wits. Turning to Eliot, her face softened to the point it began to break, “I’m sorry about your peaches.” It took Eliot too long to form words, the realization of what he had just said hitting him like a brick wall, causing Alice to make her leave._

***

Since the wake they were almost always on the opposite ends of the house from each other. If one was upstairs the other would be downstairs. The silence that befell them might be easy but it didn’t mean it was comfortable. Eliot took another long drink and studied his old classmate. Quentin’s sweats fit tightly over Alice’s hips. Eliot asked himself if maybe this was what men found attractive about yoga pants. Quentin was a small guy. His head fit neatly under Eliot’s. Eliot liked that about them. The wearing of Quentin’s clothes looked like Alice was trying to fit as much of her inside him as possible. Absorb everything she could before letting go. An act of denial. Denial that was quickly turning to anger.

“Alice…” He stood gently, regaining his strength, shuffling the few steps closer to her. “I’m _**sorry**_.” What was he sorry for? For loving Quentin? For spending a life with him? For being an ass about how he gave her the information? If he was honest with himself, he was jealous of the attention she received that night and since. He wasn’t getting the same comfort as she was. He was being passed off as the ‘best friend’ and that _fucking hurt_. But it wasn’t Alice’s fault. She couldn’t control how people looked at him. But he had only come back to the real world and she was the easiest target. It still wasn’t fair to her. “I loved him too.”

Jesus Washington on the Potomac Christ! The absolute look of murder on her face would have made him ash in a moment. 

“No!” Alice wagged her finger at him. “No! _You_ don’t get to say that to _me_!” Her matted hair flew around her as she turned away from him, her pacing beginning again. “You had a _life with him_! You got to _grow old with him_! You don’t get to talk to me about losing him!” This time she got right in his face, as much as her short frame would allow. “You got your lifetime! And what did I get? Huh?! I got an impossible ideal to live up to! I had to prove my own identity at every turn! I got trapped within his body because _he_ wanted me back with _no regard_ for what I wanted!” She pressed her back against the counter, gripping it tightly, afraid of what tuts or random magic would come off of her. The tears were back in force, her voice not even attempting to contain any sense of stability. “I got a few days of happiness. Quiet professions at night. A _sick feeling_ right before it _happened_. The memory of him _disintegrating_ burned in my memory.” She pressed her palms against her eyes trying to stop the flow of tears. She was getting a headache from the dehydration. “Do you know what it’s like to have to sleep in the bed where he last slept? Knowing you don’t have to but that you want to, _need to_? To smell him on the pillow and wonder when your scent will take over? To be afraid of washing or touching anything in fear that it will just… float away? To be afraid that you’ll forget his smile or his voice when he calls you his favorite pet name?” Was it so wrong to ask for just one more ‘Vix’? 

Again, Eliot froze in place. He understood all that she was saying. But, she was right. He got his lifetime with Q. If he wanted he could spend some time meditating and a year’s worth of memories could come flooding into his consciousness. He knew what Q looked like old and grey. He knew what kind of father he was. Just how kind, attentive, and dedicated. Better yet, he knew what kind of grandfather Q was. The mundane magic tricks he played on the grandchildren before teaching them real magic. Alice was robbed of all of this. Eliot could picture how beautiful her children would have been. He knew that Quentin would have been the same with their kids as he had been with their son. 

Alice wasn’t just mourning Q, she was mourning all the lost possibilities with him too. Yes, Eliot had hoped they would have found their time in this timeline. But, at the very least, he did have a life he could look back on fondly. Alice would never have that. How could he put into words that he understood? He reached his tall frame over the table and grabbed the bottle of wine. “Drink?” he offered weakly. 

It was a truce, Alice knew. It was a _start_. Wearily she took the bottle from him. They had a long way to go but at least they understood each other better. Before Alice could take a drag the smell of stale wine overwhelmed her and she clasped a hand over her mouth as a wave of revulsion ran through her. The bottle dropped and smashed on the floor as she ran the few feet to the downstairs bathroom. Any Physical Kid knew that bathroom well. Especially during a particularly raucous party. It had a self-cleaning spell on it so people could feel okay with being sick when they overly indulged. 

Eliot made a small tut and the broken glass found its way to an empty trashcan somewhere in the house. His compromised mobility would have made it difficult to navigate around the mess if he hadn’t. The retching had stopped by the time he made it over there. “You okay, hon?” He called. 

“Yes,” Alice half-heartedly snapped. “I must have had too much to drink or ate some bad Chinese.” Eliot took note of the kitchen before she came out. The Chinese boxes had long been empty and the fact she had made every attempt not to drink made him think otherwise. The door opened to a sheepish looking Alice. 

“Come on, Debbie Harry.” He offered his arm and led her into the living room. “Have you eaten today?” at her silence, he knew that was a negative. Once she was settled he looked at her with empathy. “I’ll get the kitchen cleaned. Shouldn’t be hard with _all_ the magic back.” He half joked. “I’ll order something from the staff. What sounds good?”

Alice took a moment to think. She felt ill and nothing really sounded good but she needed _something_ in her stomach. A feeling of hope for the two of them swelled around her. Eliot wasn’t the enemy. It was just easier to be mad at him. “Fried pickles and pistachio ice cream?” 

Eliot sighed and began to hobble back to the kitchen, “you females and your mensies.” 

Alice almost verbalized her rebuttal when the realization hit her. Curling her knees up onto the couch she let her body drop down on the couch as a fresh stream of tears silently stained her cheeks.


End file.
